


Wrong Moment

by blythechild



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fake Character Death, Fics for Pics, Friends to Lovers, Mistakes, Pining, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before Prentiss disappears forever, she decides to pick the wrong moment to break everything. </p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. This story contains sexual content and should not be read by those under the age of 18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Moment

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a response to a challenge in the picfor1000 community over on Livejournal. It was [based on this photo prompt](https://www.flickr.com/photos/77681716@N03/7117588061/in/photostream/lightbox/).

He drove her home from the night out with the gang talking amiably about the galleys from Rossi’s latest book or something, and all she could concentrate on was not throwing up in his car. This time tomorrow she’d be gone, and a month from now? Well, who knows. He was blissfully unaware of the shitstorm she was about to bring down on him, and it was cracking her wide open in the seat next to him.

So, maybe it wasn’t so surprising when she reached across and grabbed his jaw pulling him in for a breathless kiss after he’d put the car in park. Perhaps it was the groan she made when his shocked lips parted and let her in that moved her to hop over the gearshift and into his lap. Maybe she’d always known that he’d grip her hip that way - like his fingers could shatter bone - or that he’d grow full against her in an instant or that he’d stare at her in flushed, wordless wonder as she fumbled with their clothes until she got him inside her. Perhaps some part of her had imagined that moment over the years - with him clutching her hard and close, sucking marks into her neck as he moaned - but had never imagined an excuse to make it happen. Hadn’t she grown to love his oddness, cherish his company, even come to adore his questionable style and impulses? Maybe it wasn’t out of character at all; maybe she should’ve expected the tears as she buried her face in his neck when she came. She’d waited too long - it was her fault. This was all they’d ever have.

He pulled her back gently, thumbs wiping her tears. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, terrified that he’d screwed everything up, and that just rubbed salt in her self-inflicted wound.

She didn’t answer, just smoothed her skirt along with her guilt, and flipped back to the passenger seat before opening the door to escape into the rain. She pushed too hard, the door slamming into the lamppost and cracking the side mirror as she said ‘Goodbye, Reid’. That was perfect, she thought, she never had any luck. The rain came down in torrents but it wasn’t enough to drown out his voice calling her name. She told herself that he didn’t sound confused and hurt and suddenly alone - everything she never wanted for him - that was just the cross-town traffic playing tricks on her. She never looked back.

He’d build up a head of steam over it and come into the office the next day prepared to confront her, but by then she’d be gone for good and he’d be left with the grief and questions and this one, single, confounding memory of her. 

Four blocks away she stumbled into an alley and threw up.

 

 

 

And then she spent eight months _not_ thinking about him.

 

 

 

It was raining again when she came back, and even though her mind had been silent on the subject for so long, she had only one destination in view when she returned. She didn’t have an umbrella so she just stood in the street and let it soak her - it was the least she deserved. Looking up at the lit windows she waited. She’d become good at waiting and didn’t mind lingering until she drowned if she caught a glimpse of what she came for. His car had been easy to spot; he still hadn’t fixed the broken mirror and somehow that made her smile. Maybe he was as cynical about his luck as she was about hers. Rain streamed off her fingers as she ran them over the cracked and taped glass… yeah, they had no luck whatsoever. Because here it was, as plain as her shattered, drenched reflection: love, finally. But it was the wrong, damned time.

Movement drew her eyes back to the windows. The blinds were down but they were thin and glowed with the light within. A silhouette walked into view, pulling up on the edge of the window frame, scruffy head bent over a book in hand. It was only for a moment and then he walked out of sight again, but a moment was all she needed. He ascended inside her: his rambling voice, his sweater vests, his curls tucked behind one ear, his ink-stained fingers, that stupid book bag he lugged cross country, and the revolver he wore on his hip like an afterthought. She _felt_ his laughter and his revitalizing hugs and the way his tongue moved against hers as he pushed and strained for more. She got confused about how to breathe for an instant and as she coughed in the storm, her hands acted on their own pulling out her burner phone and dialing. It felt like it rang forever.

_“Hello?”_

She shouldn’t speak - she knew that much. And it was an anonymous cell, so he couldn’t trace it even if he’d thought of that. She could hang up and everything would be the way it was.

_“Hello? Who is this?”_

“I’m sorry, Reid,” she whispered and hoped that the rain covered her shaking voice.

There was a long moment, and then, _“What’s wrong?”_

He couldn’t know it was her. She was dead - they’d buried her. She’d seen him in the photos from her funeral, all scooped out and ragged. No, it was just wishful thinking.

_“Whatever it is, you can fix it.”_

He was using his hostage negotiation voice now - he had no clue who it was. He just wanted to help, like always, and that made her stomach drop.

“I’ll try. I promise,” she croaked and then hung up. 

She began walking without looking back, just like before, and when she found a trashcan she tossed the phone even though it was ringing. Tomorrow she would rise from the dead and make amends, hoping their luck might change as she bided her time waiting for a better moment.

**Author's Note:**

> This story continues in [Sergio's Prerogative](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3513491/chapters/7724933).


End file.
